


Acquaint Yourself

by Shifter



Series: Counterpoint Series [1]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: And Magic is Awesome!, Because the Dresden Fandom needs more stories., Gen, Using Dresden's Rules, Without Dresden... at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shifter/pseuds/Shifter
Summary: When Zachariah Talisen Jones stumbles upon an ancient magical book, he seeks answers from the small circle of contacts he has. But will he find out the secret of the book while under threat from criminals, demons, and the Chicago PD itself?
Series: Counterpoint Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827496
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

“So what you are saying, Si, is that you cannot help me.” I looked down at my cup of coffee, now half drunk and wasted on this chat. I sighed. “You’ve never seen a book like this?”  
Si smoothed back his bushy wisp of a beard as he hummed and ah-ed over the book between us. He gently stroked its’ gilded edges, showing off his tattoos under his long blue shirt. Several long moments later, he decided to give me an answer. 

“Well, man, it’s not like I’ll never see a book like this in the future. The mysteries of time are expansive beyond our known consciousness.” He drawled every vowel sound. _Maaan._ “And besides, it’s not about external knowledge, right? It’s all about the self and the inner journey…” His head turned as he caught sight of a pretty barista to his left. His ponytail flopped over his shoulder with a soft thump.  
Simon Williams, known amongst Chicago’s magical community as “Si”, was a pretentious sort. His hands were adorned in rings covered in various stones. Amethyst, bloodstone, alexandrite and countless others glittered across his hands as he gestured over to the barista for a refill. His ponytail was too scruffily tied up to be anything other than styled that way and his beard just screamed “magic” to anybody who knew.  
Si was a poser in the community. Sadly, he was also one of my last hopes. I flinched for a second at that thought and felt my belly clench. 

I could feel that bubbling in my stomach. Like acid reflux had an evil older twin that hated me. My whole body started to tense as I looked around for a way to expel the energy safely. The only target in sight was the coffee machine. High tech, top of the line and it must have been brand new. I unclenched my abs and let loose. 

Within a moment, my whole body gave a great sigh of relief and I could feel all that energy slam straight into the machine. Within a moment, steam shot out of one nozzle as the entire thing fizzled into sparks over the staff behind the counter. No-one was badly hurt from what I could see at the table, but the level of profanity in the café went up by a significant margin. 

Si, now that his barista was distracted, turned back to me with a significant glance. “Let me do another reading, man”. His hands flickered to a small leather pouch at his hip. A well worn set of tarot cards was dealt onto the table in a fanned out shape.  


“No, Si.” I held up my gloved hands. “The last three readings you have given me have, in order, told me to trust in the stars, ignore any romantic interests and to invest heavily in small rubber ducks. They have told me nothing new.” My words, while polite, were clipped and pointed like little spoken daggers. 

“C’mon, man. I owe you for that book that time. Least I could do.” He said.

“No.” I said. “No, thank you for the attempt, Si. But I think I will try other avenues. Enjoy your coffee.” 

I stood up from the table. My bulk made it somewhat difficult to navigate the cramped spaces of the little café. I managed to make it to the door and out on to the busy street before Si came barrelling up next to me.  


“Listen, buddy…” That god awful drawl again, as if every thought he had had to be stretched through his teeth. “You’re not gonna talk to Qara about this, are you? I don’t wanna lose my access to the shop. Especially with the groups getting readings done these days.” I turned and looked at him. He looked calm enough but his eyes betrayed his fear – losing access to a genuine magical bookstore would probably cripple what credibility Si had left. 

I sighed. Distressed as I was, I didn’t have it in me to be truly angry at him. “No, Si. Qara is not going to find out.”

He relaxed before straightening up. His sleeve tattoos were less visible in the dim light of a grey Chicago evening but I could see them clear as anything as he brushed himself down.  
“Go well, seeker of mysteries. Go forth into the world and see with new eyes…”  
Pretentious ass. I wasted good coffee on you. 

I began the long walk back to my apartment from the café. I knew it would take me a while but I didn’t trust public transport to see me home without breaking down.  


Allow me to introduce myself formally. My given name is Zachariah Talisen Jones. You can call me Zach. About three days ago, I got my hands on a new book from a dealer a few states over. First time dealers aren’t always reliable but in this case, it was worth the risk. A very rare find, this book was gilded with exquisite detailing across the front and back covers. Even if the actual pages were somewhat worn, the overall impression the book gave was one of being very old and very valuable.  


I thought I was doing something right. Finding something like that for the low price I did? That would have Qara more excited than her latest conquest. It would also get her off my back for a decent while as an added bonus.  


But the moment I touched that book, I blacked out. When I woke up, that acid reflux feeling started shooting out and destroying every decent electronic item I had in my apartment. The television failed first as it slowly turned to static. My phone managed to hold on an entire day before the electronics inside slowly died. I’d managed to barter for a spare from my downstairs neighbour but even that was barely holding on. Everything older than the late seventies began to just fail around me. Considering I live on the top floor of my building, this was less than ideal. I staggered home at just past nine, feeling every aching step shock through me as I got to my building’s front door. 

My apartment block is pretty small, all things considered. Ten stories tall with about two apartments to a floor, it had somehow managed to resist the wave of modernisation that had come through the city in recent years. Good for low rent and an out of the way location to avoid people in. Pretty bad when you realised asbestos could still be an issue. Still, before the whole mess with the book, it was okay enough and it had had a pretty good lift that got me up and down to my apartment quickly enough.  


My first day after I’d touched the book, I got in the damn elevator like a moron. I was stuck for about three hours.  


I looked at the dull brown walls of the stairs and I dragged my heavy frame all the way past each individual step. I wasn’t exactly the slimmest of men by anyone’s standards and having to haul myself up and down this staircase was doing little for my sense of achievement during the day. Finally, after nearly falling over the final step and staggering through my own front door, I got to what I called home.  


It was small. Barely two rooms if that, separated by a flimsy door between the two that shook if there was a draft. A nice thick shag carpet that the previous renter had put in for the living room contrasted with the very cheap and falling apart linoleum that just barely covered the kitchen. My sofa, an old leather two seater, took pride of place in the centre of the room. The rooms were both painted a warm duck eggs blue. I’d been meaning to change since I could remember but it seemed good enough for now. Nice and calming was what I needed at the moment.  


All in all, if it weren’t for the littered broken electronics scattered across the floor, it would have looked like quite the peaceful place to live. With said broken things, it looked like a Luddite lived here. I’d tried fixing each of the different items, consulting handbooks where I could, and found that things just wouldn’t work around me. Whatever was wrong, whatever that book had done to me, had completely futzed everything techy.  


Stupid book. I threw it on the sofa and flopped down next to it. Normally, after work, I’d just rest on the sofa and watch t.v. Now, I just had to sit and think about how my life had changed. The random blasts of energy, that weird feeling in my belly and chest and even the complete failure of the tech didn’t make any sense.  


I’d heard about some people with magical talent having some trouble with tech before. Most of the customers at the shop paid cash instead of by card. But none of them had ever had this kind of effect on anything. If they had, the lights probably wouldn’t have survived as long as they had.  


But I didn’t have magic talent. 100% did not have it. It was the only reason Qara trusted me: she didn’t want anyone working under her to be trying to steal books or messing around with the stacks while they were meant to be working.  


_Screw it,_ I thought. It was late, I was tired and my legs were killing me. I pulled myself up from the sofa and gently flopped into my just-about-a-double bed. I carefully slipped my gloves off, revealing the vicious burn marks I kept hidden, and placed them on the floor next to the bed. I told myself that I’d try one of my other contacts tomorrow and try to get a good night’s sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

What little sleep I had hoped to earn was ruined by the drone of a ringer. I didn’t know how early it was. Judging by the hint of sunlight out my window, it certainly was not late enough. 

Groggily, I stumbled over to the phone I kept by my bed. I barely managed to avoid the different broken little pieces of technology that littered my floor before picking up. “Hello, Jones speaking.”

“Hello, Zach.” The hello was stretched out like a cat ready to pounce. I could see the grin on her face as her voice drifted through the phone. 

“Miss Qara.” I said, trying to keep my frustration out of my voice. 

“Just Qara, Zach.” A small pause on the line. “I need you at work early today. Soon as possible. I’ve got various little affairs to take care of all over town. That won’t be a problem will it?” 

I thought about it. Getting to work via public transport was a half hour job if everything was running right. But walking like I had to now? I’d barely have time to get everything ready before I left. 

Still, it was Qara. I owed her far too much. “No, not at all. I will get over as soon as I can. Is there anything you would like done? The shop cleaned perhaps?” I said. 

The phone line whirred a little before Qara’s soft voice came out. “That’s a very bold offer from you, Zach. You’re normally so quiet. Has anything happened you want to tell me about?” 

“No, not at all.” I said. Her grin widened. I could tell by that smug tone she had when she said “Oh, I’m sure you’re hiding something, Zach. But I’ll leave you be for now. Just get into work on time.” 

A click ended the call. I growled. Qara probably didn’t know anything about what happened. I’d been trying to keep it secret when I’d gone after the book after all. But I could feel my whole body tense up at her words. 

See, here’s the major issue with Qara as far as I’m concerned; she refused to have anyone working for her with the slightest magical interest. A few months back, she’d fired someone just for reading through one of the actually useful magical books that she kept. She said it “wasn’t professional” and that “it would only lead to trouble later on.” She had no problem at all with wizards and warlocks of all differing stripes buying her merchandise. She actively encouraged people towards more obviously magical treatises and summoning books that she had. 

But when it came to her workers, Qara was hardline anti-magic. 

I tried to flick on my light bulb with the dimmer switch in my room, only to be greeted by the double sound of a click and a smash. Tiny flecks of glass sprinkled themselves onto the floor. 

Well, crap.

I danced over the shards out into the living room, stopping occasionally to brush the smaller pieces off of my feet. I went over to my electric cooker and… 

Double crap. 

I sighed very loudly, doing my best to not shout at this time of the morning. Even after three days, my morning routine had been so ingrained in me that it was like being on auto-pilot. 

My fridge, at least, worked for the moment. It came with the apartment and I figured it was old enough for it not to be ju-ju-ed into nonfunctionality. I took out the milk, grabbed some cereal, and treated myself to another breakfast of champions. I missed my scrambled eggs, toast and sausages. 

I scarfed down the cereal and in record time, I had just about assembled my standard work uniform from what clean clothes I had remaining. 

My waistcoat, as it always was, was pressed neatly allowing the ripples of sapphire blue to show clearly against the background of a neat white shirt. My black trousers and smart shoes were comfortable enough for work gear although I was certain the shoes would need a thorough polish soon. Finally, I slipped on my gloves once again. It wouldn’t do to have burn marks in a shop about magic. It never left a good impression with the clientele. 

As I began to rush out the door, I nearly bumped into a tall figure standing outside my door. Her scarlet hair cascaded down onto her emerald jacket in elegant waves. It was only her reflexes that stopped us colliding. 

“Zach!” She said, beaming. “How are you?” 

In most communities, there’s always someone that everybody points to as an organiser. A community focused sort. Someone who is so focused on getting everyone together that they are the person everyone turns to. 

In the case of my apartment block, that person was Thora Salverson. 

Her height was perhaps the least noticeable thing about her. She was nearly as tall as me, standing at 5’11 and often matched my in two to three inch heels. She was the type of woman about whom the phrase “silk hiding steel” was made for. She loved doing all these domestic pursuits – cooking, cleaning, making sure her apartment was as much of a home as anyone could want. Often, she tried to organise little baking competitions for one charity or another and everyone would make a token effort. Mostly just so we could have a taste of whatever goodies she had made. 

Then there were times where I was downright terrified of this woman. Once I saw her send a man running for the hills for dealing drugs near the building. She’d gripped his arm and had him in a hold so fast that he didn’t realise just how much damage she could have done. Nothing fancy, or god forbid magical; just that kind of easy skill that comes from either leagues of talent or pounding the dojo floor for a lifetime. The cops weren’t called and we never had any problems with drug dealers again. 

But I always got the feeling she knew I’d seen her; that I’d seen how easily she’d protected her own and not ran or started telling everyone else. I still don’t know why I kept that secret but I guess I figured she was doing some good for the neighbourhood. It was one of the ways I explained to myself why someone like her had such an interest in me.

She stood there, smiling happily as anything, with a glint of meddling in her green eyes. I looked back, probably looking scruffier than I normally did. “Hello, Thora. I am just on my way to work.”  
“Really? I did wonder why I heard you moving so early. Is everything okay?” Her voice was off somehow. Like she’d spent enough time with Americans to speak the language but her accent was holding on for dear life. I couldn’t quite place it. It only added to my nerves around her. 

“A new rota at work. My boss says if I want to have a little more time off, I will need to work a little earlier.” My voice wasn’t completely clear of the early morning roughness. I tried to shuffle past her but she remained planted firmly where she was. 

“Bit sudden, wasn’t it?” She said. “You weren’t at the pot luck dinner last night. You’re normally the one with the biggest appetite!” 

I chuckled awkwardly, folding my arms around me. “I had to meet a friend.”

“A friend?” She said, blatantly digging. 

“Yes, they were in town. We got coffee at that little café you told me about.”

She looked at me. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Hmmm…” I deliberately avoided her gaze. Thora wasn’t the type of person to leave something like my problems alone. If she found out, I’d have to explain far too much. With the rumours about what was really out there in the magical world, I thought it better to avoid the issue. 

After a moment, I looked at her again. She seemed satisfied for the moment. “Alright then, Zach.” She said, folding her arms as if she was mirroring me. “You know you can come talk any time? I’ll make those double chocolate brownies you like?” 

On the surface, I could tell she genuinely wanted to make sure I was alright. But something told me that she was also just protecting her home. That whatever my problems were, if they threatened her own little piece of Chicago, she’d beat me like she did that drug dealer without a second thought. 

I nodded. “It is fine, Thora. Thank you for your offer.” I moved past her, beginning the easy part of my route to work. 

I liked where I lived. My top floor apartment had a good enough view out the windows that on a good day, I could see clear across the city. The neighbours weren’t bad – Thora stood out as a high point but the rest of them were at least tolerable folk as these things went. The landlord was unobtrusive. Almost ghostlike really. No one saw him much and he seemed to prefer to work through other people. But even so, the building was kept up well enough that I could live. 

As I walked out onto the street, I wondered about my problem. Was it going to get worse? Would I eventually become a walking technological nightmare? What about Qara and her no-magic policy? Working in her store was well paying enough that I avoided the trap of working long hours for little pay like most my age. Oh, it was still long hours and the pay was hardly extravagant, but I could at least afford some little luxuries every now and then. Like that godforsaken book… 

I sighed once again. It was a long walk to Qara’s and there was little else I could do except focus on the journey ahead of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! 
> 
> Again, hope you all like it. Kudos would be appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

About an hour and change had passed and I was standing outside the shop. The rain was thick and heavy by now and my little thin rain coat was failing admirably at keeping me dry. I shook my head, ignoring that tickle of acidic feeling in my stomach. I kept my mind focused on the exposed brick walls of my work place. The somewhat faded sign above the doorway read **“Secrets Of The Arcane”** with a much newer sign underneath that said **“Books Sold and Bought.”** As I reached onto my key ring to open the door, I noticed the array of different magical symbols that had been etched into the door frame. Each one was a lesson in detailed carving. There was just enough space around each one to tell what it was supposed to be in the frantic haze of designs. 

Except that none of them were real. I’d spent some of the slower days in the shop reading one of the approved books in the selection. Nothing usable, of course, but enough to get a grounding in symbolism and different warding marks commonly found around the place. Not one of the ones etched around the door could be found in any of the books that I had read. 

I shook off that feeling of doubt that crept into my head. As I stomped in past the small tables of new releases and books for sale, the shelves of older treatises and now defunct summoning manuals that entertained only newbies in the community, I went through thinking of when we’d had trouble in the shop. As far as I knew, none of the larger powers in Chicago really knew or cared we were here. Occasionally you’d get people wandering in asking questions on sorcery or lycanthropy like those college students had last year, but ultimately Chicago at large did not care for Secrets all that much. 

I gave a quick glance to the clock. I had about twenty five minutes before I had to open for the morning crowd. The regular tick-tocking of its’ mechanical gears gave me hope that Qara wouldn’t notice my condition. Being a shop for the practitioners of Chicago, pretty much every piece of technology was mechanical. When I thought about it, I was lucky in that way. Any interference I could easily put down to shoppers and amateurs with an overenthusiastic sense of their own power showing off. 

I walked over behind the counter, shrugged off my now drenched raincoat to hang up on a peg, and gave a quick glance behind me. The wet streak was as plain as day, leading right from the door all the way up to my feet like a giant sign saying “it’s HIS fault!” Damp as the floor now was, it’d be an incredible hazard for anyone who came in. There was very little I could do except curse what little luck I had left. There weren’t really cleaning implements here save for the little roll of paper towels we keep for minor spills. But that wouldn’t help with this level of water. I gave an almighty sigh once again and set about scrubbing the wet patches off of the floor. 

By the time I’d finished and looked up the clock, opening time was five minutes gone. I didn’t quite have time to rush through and pick up all of the small pieces of towel that littered the place. The morning rush was already here. 

The moment I opened the door, the few dedicated practitioners that had knew about us came in. They stared around the shop with a focused intensity, like they were blood hounds searching for prey. If there was anything new, or if Qara was there to open up, they’d ask to go to the back room to haggle over price or negotiate favours. If Qara liked them enough, meaning they were wealthy more often than not, she’d let them have a favour or a book and a satisfied customer would leave thinking they’d gotten a good deal. Most times, they really hadn’t. But there were few enough good arcane bookstores in town to have any real competition. I just walked behind the counter and let my day of work begin. 

There are never too many questions about magic in a bookstore like Secrets. Most of the people who know about it are well read enough to have developed some minor talents of their own and engaged in enough exploration that they have a grasp of the basics. But then you get people like Mildred Cotes. Mildred was a little old dear, probably around 60 to 70 years old, who came into the shop every day to harass me about minutiae of the magical sort. Her tiny frame was often covered in a woolly sweater not quite worn enough to be thrown away. She always looked to me like someone’s estranged aunt; a family member that no one ever really talked to because they’d just sort of forgotten about them.

The moment she was in the shop, she went straight for me. “Zach?” She said, voice thickening the h. _Zac-kuh._

“Yes, Miss Cotes?” Calm, I thought to myself. She’s just curious. 

“I’m curious about this book here…” She pulled out one of the older summoning texts. A White Council print. It was essentially useless for most real practitioners. 

“Ah, yes, _Daemonick Sirkles of the Third Plane._ An older text but it serves as a good primer on-“

“Why are you stocking things on demons here? Someone could get hurt!” Her voice was a semi-tone off and it sent a shiver of displeasure up my spine. 

“Miss Cotes, that would be because the book does not work. The vast majority of demonic summoning books have been so over printed by the White Council of Wizards that the demons have since refused summons from any circle contained within.” I said. 

“But how do you know that?” She peered at me intently. 

I had the confidence of history on my side as I spoke. “Because if there was a functional book of demonology and someone was foolish enough to ignore the multiple warnings about summoning demons or other spirits, then the local Wardens would have found it and rapidly over printed. Just like they always do.” 

“Hmmm…” I could tell my answer hadn’t satisfied her as she peered at me again. “Well, I suppose. Have you had any books in about my particular talent?” 

I paused for a moment. “Possibly, Miss Cotes. You said it was related to animals last time we spoke?” 

“Not just any animals, dear. Cats!” Her eyes twinkled with excitement. For a brief moment, I could see the energy and life fill her frame as she spoke. “Adorable creatures, of course. So soft and furry. And useful! Keep out spirits and all sorts of nasty pixie folk!” 

I nodded politely. “Of course. If I remember correctly, we did have some translations of texts from Egypt on cats. Third shelf on the left there.” I pointed vaguely over to the section with my gloved hands. 

“Oh thank you dear.” She scurried away into the shelves and began browsing as she often did. I shook my head just slightly, giving a small smile. It wasn’t so bad having to deal with her if I was honest. She at least thanked me after I helped her. 

I continued my day in relative peace. The books on the shelves were pre-priced – no haggling whatsoever and most of our customers understood that. 

Si, with his tattoos stretching all the way up his arms and his ponytail neatly tied up, seemed to have trouble with that concept. Especially when he had his entourage with him. They weren’t the brightest bunch of people, mostly would-be-not conjurers and minor sensitives that flocked to Si’s well presented but ultimately unimpressive tarot readings. He had two of them with him today. In my head, they were all interchangeable. 

“Zachariah…” Oh god. He was using my full name. “What fortunate winds bring me to this place of business today.” He smiled at me. 

“Hello, Mister Williams.” I said. 

“Now, have you had anything new on the mysteries of the arcane of which I am a seeker?” His entourage swooned at this. His pretentious nonsense was grating at the best of times. 

“No, Mister Williams. Nothing on Tarot readings or cards. Although we did have a delivery yesterday of a few older volumes on fortune telling.” I pushed the feeling of tension in my stomach as far as I could. 

“Ah, perhaps we could negotiate for a price for these books. I’m sure my apprentices here in the mystic arts could use some finer education.” He smiled again at me and it was thanks to every ounce of acting ability I had that I didn’t snarl at him. He knew the rules but he was good enough business that he thought he could flaunt them when he wanted. He was showing off, the complete and total - 

I clenched my stomach again, feeling that ripple of energy lash out at being contained. I kept it in. 

“Mister Williams, you are welcome to look at the books and judge for yourself whether it is a fair price. Now, if you will excuse me.” I turned to move away. Before I could fully move, I felt Si’s hand grab my arm. 

I was furious. This con man hadn’t been able to help me out and now as trying to barter with me like we were friends? Like he had any real importance or clout to be able to do that? I flinched into the grab and felt that rush of energy surge against me once more. 

This time, I let it go. It was either that or shout down Si in full view of his entourage. The energy ripped through me, lashing out into the world at everything. Books fell from shelves, tables rattled ferociously and I turned my head just in time to watch the mechanical clock on the wall break down to shreds. 

I stopped and stared around me. The few customers still in the store looked between me and Si with a mixture of amazement and shock on their faces. Si looked at me with a hint of fear, which quickly turned into anger, all pretence of being a “mystic master” dropped. “What the hell did you do?!”

“Now, boys…” The slow, smooth tone wafted in like smoke past the door. Both Si and I looked towards the door with dread on our faces. 

Qara stared back at us, a barely decent look of amusement in her silver tinged eyes. Her hair at the moment was a shock of electric blue cut into a neat bob around her poised features currently aimed right at myself and Si. She strode over to us, dressed in her standard outfit of a white blouse, black jeans and boots up to her mid calf. Her confidence in her walk was a cloak that settled over me like a lead weight.

She looked between us, her eyes dragging from one to the other. “Simon.” She pulled out the name as you might a dagger from someone’s back. “Have you been casting spells in my store?” 

Si’s eyes narrowed. “Are you mad? I would never – In this place-“ He was frantically looking between Qara and his two “apprentices.” 

Qara just kept smiling. “Well, I think it best that you leave, hm? You’re causing a disturbance in my shop. Again.” 

“But-“

“Now, Simon.” I could feel the atmosphere in the room change with her words. Whether by magic or by sheer force of personality, Si simply left the building but not before giving a sly glare at me. I simply stared back, partially in shock from my own outburst. 

After Si and his entourage left, Qara turned towards me. Her demeanor was a complete turn-around from the slightly eager grin from before. “Clear up the clock, Zach. And the rest of the garbage.” She walked past me, straight towards a promising customer and easing him out of his stupor. I walked over to the small broom and began clearing up my mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 Chapters Down!


End file.
